1 October 2002 (9:23 am) Astoria, Queens

but untie the ends and nothing falls out.  no tears for my Morning ever presents.  i am already outside waiting for me.  my Morning jogs in place and waits for the present present to catch up to a pastless dreamday.  my head mine is weightless.  i take it off my shoulders and set it on the ground by my feet, until there is only a vacant space there i was before.  Morning pats then kisses the neckstump, leans down to retrieveandplace the head after letting all but the eyes evaporate.  so i remain vacant.  my Morning loves that.  the past and Moresmile are for the moment safely vapor.

yes yes.  dayrise mine with my Morning.  i motion, feel the eyes breathe into a nod hollow and allow them to giggle using my mouth.  giggle.

the Flights are back with my guffaw cawl.  and don’t they but seem to notice that my head has been Morning made: a balloon.  perhaps i could fly with them in present my kilter.  perhaps we could australia together, hold together our delicates and titter.  they titter-do.  i think to giggle back but that only reconstitutes the bits my Morning has so freed.

damn it.  even a giggle is a terrible invitation for the thought and pastplague.  the plague comes back without subpoena; amorphous past evolving into a constant present illogically grander in scale than the pieces that went into making it.  the Flights alight.  all but one chestnut beau.  he’s no tattle tail, although all his winged kin rush off to mother Morning-

“he’s thinking again, again, again.”  this, of course, is paraphrase.

the rear guard Flight prances his flitter up to my shoulder and tickles my ear with chirp crumbles.  i ask him to peck out my there, but my Flight is not about it and i am pulled straight down, through my knees, to another damn Moresmile memory.  giggle bitch.

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